Titanium ends up in the things people carry every day: a cup clipped to a pack, a pen in a jacket pocket, a knife that has lived in the same pocket for ten years. It weighs a little over half what steel does, it does not rust, and it keeps no taste, so the morning's coffee and the afternoon's water come out of the same cup without a trace of each other.
It is not rare. It is the ninth most common element in the earth's crust, but it holds on to oxygen so hard that nobody produced a clean piece of it until 1910, and it is still refined a batch at a time in sealed chambers of argon. Then it fights the tools: it springs back, grabs the cutter and hardens as it is worked. So the ore is cheap and the finished metal is not, which is why a titanium cup costs more than a steel one of the same shape.
Put it next to the other two metals cups are made from. Steel is heavier, and most kitchen steel carries nickel. Aluminum is lighter still, but it dents in a bag, gets hot enough to burn a lip, and needs a lining for anything acidic. Titanium sits between them: lighter than steel, harder than aluminum, and it leaves what you pour into it alone. In the hand it warms up where steel stays cold.
Its color grows out of the metal. Dip a finished piece in a mild electrolyte, run a current through it, and the thin oxide on its surface thickens. Light bouncing off the top of that film and off the metal beneath it makes the color, the way oil colors a puddle: bronze and gold at low voltage, blue a little higher, then yellow, pink and green. There is no dye to fade and no paint to chip, and a scratch through to the metal just shows titanium gray. Few metals take color this way, and titanium is the one you are most likely to meet.
Titanium is element 22. In hexadecimal, that is 0x16.